


When Erik Met Charles

by Gerec



Series: Nothing But Movie AUs [7]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Crack, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Humor, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Smitten Erik, When Harry Met Sally AU, absolutely zero angst, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-04-25 17:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4970449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles agrees to give Raven's friend a lift from the University of Chicago to New York and meets one Erik Lehnsherr - who is obnoxious, opinionated and super hot. They don't quite become friends during their 12 hour roadtrip home - that comes much later, after 10 years, a marriage (Erik's) and a broken heart (Charles').</p><p>Then they fall in love.</p><p>('When Harry Met Sally' AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chicago to New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles meets Raven's friend Erik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to try to update this once a week. Let's see how it goes :D
> 
> Thanks to Widge for her help with Erik's dietary 'issues' and Lach for her beta work! xoxo

_Charles_

“Thanks for doing this, Charles. I think you’re going to really like him.”

“Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Darling. Have a good semester and I’ll call you when I get back to New York.”

“Okay, thanks. I love you.”

“I love you too, Raven. Bye.”

Charles hangs up the phone and sighs, slumping against the seat as he checks the time. It’s 10:22am, and he’s been waiting now for over thirty minutes, his coffee cup empty and his email all caught up. He wishes now that he hadn’t promised to give Raven’s friend a ride with him back to New York, especially if said friend couldn’t even be bothered to show up on time.

He’s just about to pull away when a loud knock on his driver side window startles him, a face staring at him with eyebrows creased in annoyance. It’s Erik, and Charles recognizes him from Raven’s pictures - even more handsome in person with those high cheek bones and that trim waist - but he’s definitely scowling at _Charles_ , which is understandably confusing since he’s the one that’s late.

He turns off the radio and rolls the window down, apparently just in time to catch the tail end of Erik’s tirade. “—waiting for forty-five minutes, Xavier! You were supposed to meet me by the Law Building!”

Charles gives him the patented Xavier look of disdain, one that would make his mother Sharon proud, and leans his head out the window. “No, Raven told me to wait _here_. Which I did. For thirty minutes. Twenty two – no wait – twenty _four_ more minutes than I care to waste so if you still want a ride then I suggest you get in the damn car.”

His answer seems to catch the man by surprise, and it makes Charles wonder if Erik Lehnsherr isn’t used to always cowing others into getting his way. Admittedly, Erik probably comes across as quite intimidating to most, especially with that chiseled jaw and those toned biceps _\- get a grip Xavier_ – but Charles isn’t so easily swayed by a little show of temper.

He’s had years of practice after all, living with his obnoxious stepfather Kurt and equally obnoxious stepbrother Cain.

Thankfully, Erik decides the ride is more important than chastising Charles, and stomps around to the back of the car, tossing his things in the trunk of the Volvo. It’s not much considering he’s moving home after three years from Chicago to New York; a large duffel bag and two boxes, and a beat up old soccer ball.

He gets the silent treatment as they pull away from the U of C campus, which Charles doesn’t really mind; better than spending the next twelve hours arguing with the only other person in the car. But the cloud that’s been hanging over Erik’s thoughts seem to slowly be lifting as they get further away from the city, and by the time they’re on the Interstate he actually turns to look at Charles.

“You got a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?”

The question comes out of bloody nowhere, but Charles decides to humor him, for Raven’s sake. “Neither,” he answers. No need to tell him that he’s married to his work, and happily getting by on the (more than) occasional one night stand.

“Hm.”

It’s obvious that Raven has shared details of his mutation with Erik, because he’s quite clearly pushing his thoughts at Charles, the _ask me ask me_ beating against his shields like an incessant drum.

Charles sighs. “Do _you_ have a girlfriend, Erik? Or boyfriend?”

Erik lets out a wheezing noise, like the air deflating out of a popped balloon. “Magda just broke up with me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, and then, because Charles Xavier can never leave well enough alone he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Turns out, Erik really, really does.

Three hours later and Erik is _still_ talking, and Charles knows way more about his relationship with Magda – they’re both Jewish, she was his first but he wasn’t hers, they were childhood best friends, their families went to the same synagogue, she caught him with a guy once but forgave him, he’s moving to New York and she didn’t want to come – than he’s ever known about _any_ relationship, including his own. He decides that a break is in order, and probably a shift change with the driving, and pulls off at the next exit towards a decent looking roadside diner with lots of cars and trucks in the parking lot.

They head in and grab themselves a booth by the window, and thankfully the delicious smell of the greasy food manages to curb most of Erik’s complaints about how much he misses his ex-girlfriend. But it’s quickly replaced by complaints about the menu, and how everything in America is either covered or slathered or dipped or fried in bacon.

“You’re on a strict diet then? Maybe we should leave and find someplace that serves kosher food?”

“Nah,” Erik answers, winking inexplicably at Charles as he takes a drink of his water. “Not really. But definitely no bacon.”

When the waitress comes Charles orders a burger with fries and a diet soda, and then watches, stuck between horror and fascination as Erik goes on a tear about the bacon cheeseburger special. The entirety of the conversation with the waitress goes -

“I want the special, but I can’t eat bacon. Is there anything on your menu that isn’t part bacon? Or covered in bacon? Or cooked in bacon grease?”

“Well, we’ve got the tuna salad.”

“Fine, I’ll take the tuna salad but for the same price as the special. And no eggs.”

“I’m sorry, sir but I don’t think I can do that--”

“Sure you can. Since your special is a _bacon_ cheeseburger, and I can’t eat it, then it’s up to you to provide me with a suitable alternative for the same price. Which in this case is the tuna salad --”

“But, sir --”  

“-- otherwise, find me a cheeseburger that’s kosher; either way I’m not paying more because you can’t accommodate your customer’s dietary restrictions.”

His scowl, and the way the cutlery is levitating three inches off the table sends the poor waitress scurrying off without another word, and Charles slumps back against the bench with a groan.

“What?” Erik asks mildly, as if he hadn’t spent the last two minutes making the poor woman’s life a living hell. Charles moves his fingers to his temple, trying to discreetly assuage the waitress’ annoyance and anger. He’ll be damned if he lets Erik’s rant get both of their meals ‘specially prepped’ by the chef.

“Nothing,” he says, and Erik just shrugs his shoulders, blissfully silent as they wait for their food. When it arrives, Charles tries giving the waitress his most charming smile, which unfortunately does nothing to change the way she slams down both of their plates.

Charles cringes.

Erik ignores it – or doesn’t notice – and starts digging into his tuna salad with gusto. He’s half way through the meal before he looks up at Charles and comments, “So your sister says you’re some kind of genius?”

“Yes.” He rolls his eyes. “Some kind.”

“So, tell me what you do. We’ve got another eight hours to go ‘til we get to New York.”

“I specialize in genetics; in mutations to be exact. I teach at Columbia, and I’m about to start on a second PhD in biophysics.”

Erik snorts. “So you’re using that big brain of yours to write papers and lab reports? Instead of _actually_ helping mutants who are in need?”

Charles bristles, mostly because he’s been having the same argument with Raven who’s always pushing him to be more active in mutant politics both on and off campus, accusing him of worrying more about his experiments than ‘real issues’. “What I do is extremely important for mutants. How can we expect people to understand and accept us if they don’t know the science behind mutations? We need continuous research and education to make sure the next generation--”

But Erik interrupts with a wave of his hand, dismissing him with such impassioned fervor that it leaves Charles simultaneously incensed and maybe just a little aroused.

“What good is _science_ going to do for all the mutants that are out on the street? For those who can’t get hired for _any_ job because of their mutation? Or teens whose parents throw them out because they don’t like the fact that they’re ‘different’? Or mutant parents who get their kids taken away from them for no other reason than the fact that they’re mutants? _That’s_ why I became a lawyer, Xavier, so I can actually get out there in the trenches and _help_.”

“One does not negate the other, Lehnsherr,” Charles snaps, and oh he’s _thisclose_ to tossing that arrogant, rude, opinionated prick out on his ass and driving the rest of the way to New York on his own. “I help in my own way, using my ‘big brain’ to advance the rights of mutants by establishing our--”

“You know,” Erik interrupts again, and Charles is _really_ going to strangle him this time, “Raven never mentioned how hot you were.”

“What?” Because he can’t seriously have just said what he said…right?

“Your sister didn’t tell me you were hot,” Erik continues, looking him up and down with a lascivious grin. “But look at you, you’re smokin’ hot, Xavier.”

He has a pretty good idea just how hot Erik thinks he is, with the 3D images of Charles’ lips and eyes and hands that are blaring from his mind. Charles slams his shields tight as they morph further into the use of said lips and hands, much of it wrapped around Erik’s rather large cock – which is either greatly inflated due to the man’s insufferable ego, or actually, a giant monster he’s hiding in his pants.

Charles coughs and straightens in his seat. “She probably doesn’t think I’m hot, Erik. On the account that she’s _my sister_.”

Apparently undeterred by Charles’ glare, Erik just shrugs. “I don’t think it’s a matter of opinion. Empirically speaking, you’re super hot.”

Charles shakes his head and waves for their bill, feeling perfectly justified nudging their waitress along with his telepathy, to get them out of the diner and out of her hair that much faster. “I can’t believe you’re hitting on me. You just spent three hours moaning about Magda breaking your heart.”

“I’m not hitting on you! Who said I was hitting on you? I’m just making an observation, a _clinical_ observation.”   

“That’s not--, that’s not what clinical observation means!”

“Whatever you say,” Erik answers, as their waitress wanders by and drops off their bill without a word. They each dig into their pockets for their half of the meal, and Charles watches with bemusement as Erik proceeds to use his mutation – magnetism and control over metal as Raven told him – to count out the _exact change_.

“Are you really not going to leave a tip?” he asks, even though he has an inkling what Erik’s going to say about it. “She deserves some kind of hazard pay for having to deal with you.”

But Erik just rolls his eyes at Charles, likely calling him a rather unflattering name in his head. “Tips are for good services rendered. I'd hardly call what we got today ‘good service’.”

Charles follows Erik out the door, but not before leaving an extra five to make up the difference. He decides to keep it quiet and let it go, deciding – probably rightly - that Erik would object loudly and force Charles to turn around and take it back if he knew, just to make a point.

He lets Erik take over at the wheel, switching over to a Jazz station, and is pleasantly surprised when he gets no objection. They manage to drive in an almost companionable silence for almost thirty minutes, and Charles is close to drifting off, when Erik says, out of the blue, “We should have sex.”  

“I beg your pardon?” Charles sputters, letting incredulity color his response. “What? How? Where the hell did _that_ come from?”

Erik arches a brow and gives him an unimpressed look. “Don’t play coy with me Xavier. I saw you checking out my ass and my crotch. You think I’m hot too.”

He doesn’t even try to deny it, because it’s not like Erik’s wrong. “Just because I think you’re attractive, doesn’t mean I want to sleep with you.”

“Why not?”

Charles pinches the bridge of his nose and huffs a frustrated sigh. “Because you’re friends with my sister, and it would be weird. Because you just broke up with your girlfriend and you’re obviously nursing a broken heart. Because I think you’re arrogant and insufferable and no amount of hotness outweighs the fact that I don’t know whether I want to fuck you or punch you in the face. So the answer is no, we’re not having sex.”

Erik shrugs, and Charles is rapidly finding _that_ to be his most annoying trait. “Suit yourself. It would have been awesome.” And then, “Guess we’re just going to be friends then.”

“I guess.”

Thirty seconds go by without a response, and just when Charles thinks he’s in the clear, Erik pipes up, “But that’s not going to work, you see. We can’t be friends, because we’re both bi, and we find each other attractive.”

“What? That’s not true. I have lots of gay and bisexual friends I find attractive and I’m not having sex with any of them.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“You only think that you do.”

Charles spins all the way around in his seat until he’s facing Erik, expression contorted in disbelief. “Are you saying I’m having sex with these people without my knowledge?”

Erik shakes his head and gives Charles another unimpressed look. “No, I’m saying they all _want_ to have sex with you.”

He lets the statement wash over him for a moment, and replies, “They do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Erik says, with almost as much conviction as his earlier rant about disadvantaged mutants. “You just _think_ you’re friends with them, but I guarantee they pretty much all want to fuck you.”

Charles scoffs. “So you’re saying you can only be friends with a person you _don’t_ find attractive?”

Erik thinks about it for a moment, and says, “No, I’d probably want to nail them too.”

\----

“You’re saying you would leave Humphrey Bogart for the other guy?”

“Yes I’m saying that I would leave him, regardless of my feelings because I’m needed on the front lines! To fight the Nazis with my husband by my side!”

Erik shakes his head. “You’d rather have a passionless marriage—”

“—and help win the War –”

“—than stay with the man you’ve had the best sex of your life with, just because he owns a bar and that’s all he does?”

Charles pulls up in front of the pretty three story walk-up and parks, relieved to finally arrive at their destination. The rest of the trip had been spent arguing with Erik over one topic or another, and Charles is ready to pass out from exhaustion, even if a tiny part of him is disappointed to see it end.

“I would have thought with your stance on mutants that you’d be the first to sacrifice love for duty,” he teases.

“Whatever, it’s just a movie,” Erik snaps, bristling like a wet cat at Charles’ words. He can read the angry embarrassment raging in Erik’s mind, being called out – as Jewish and an activist - for suggesting he wouldn’t do everything in his power to end the War. Which Charles knows is patently untrue, and that Erik is only answering as the secret romantic he is, who couldn’t stand to be apart from someone he really loved.

“So I guess this is it,” Charles says, after a few moments of awkward silence. “It was nice meeting you, Erik.”

“Yeah, thanks for the ride.”

Erik gets out of the car without another word and goes to pull his stuff out of the trunk, setting everything down on the sidewalk before he makes his way back to the passenger side. He sticks his head through the window and smirks. “Sure you don’t want to come upstairs and fuck?”

Charles can’t help but laugh, and he’s gratified to see the smile returning to Erik’s face. “Didn’t you say you lived with your mother?”

He grins at Charles as he leans over to pick up his things, baring his teeth in a close approximation to a deranged killer. Or a shark. “So that’s a no?”

“No,” Charles answers. “Goodbye Erik, and good luck.”

“You too,” Erik says, and he actually sounds like he means it. “See you around, Xavier.”

\---

Charles doesn’t see Erik Lehnsherr again, until five years later.


	2. New York to D.C.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik runs into Charles at the airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thank you to Kernezelda for her recent post on all of Charles' various PhDs, so I didn't have to go searching lol!

_Erik – Five Years Later_

He’s in La Guardia, on his way to security when something that seems almost – but not quite - familiar catches his eye.

Yes – floppy brown hair and compact build in a classy grey suit, and too red lips currently plastered all over the face of a pretty brunette. Erik is certain that he’s seen that man before, but where? A lawyer perhaps, someone he’s faced in court? Or a one night stand (of which there’s admittedly been _a lot_ ) he picked up at a club? Or the gym? At the deli? The dry cleaners?

He doesn’t realize that he’s walked right up to the couple and is actually staring as they maul each other in a passionate lip lock - that is until the woman pulls away reluctantly to stare back. Erik realizes with a jolt that he knows her; he actually worked with her not too long ago, in a mutant trafficking case where she was the lead detective.

“Moira!” he greets, and the man tightens his arm around her waist just a little, his eyebrows furrowing in surprise as he looks up at Erik. “Or should I say Detective MacTaggert? Erik Lehnsherr…we worked together on that trafficking case back in January remember?”

“Oh yes, Erik hi,” she answers with a smile, reaching to shake his hand. “And you can call me Moira. No need for formalities outside of work.”

She looks good, dressed in a cream blouse and russet skirt and Erik remembers thinking how hot she was when they’d first met, and how hard he would have _hit that_ , if he’d been single at the time.

“Sorry let me introduce you,” she continues, staring adoringly at the man by her side, who looks for some reason like he’s trying to stifle his laughter. “Erik – this is Charles Xavier. Charles, this is Erik Lehnsherr; he’s the lawyer I told you about, the one that works almost exclusively on mutant cases?”

“Hello Erik,” ‘vaguely familiar hot guy I might have fucked’ says, his lips looking incredibly plush and freshly bitten. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hear you do great work for the mutant community in New York.”

The accent triggers something in his memory, posh and English and so very proper, but he still can’t place where he might have met the man before. He decides he’s going to come straight out and ask; otherwise it’s going to niggle at him for the entire flight to D.C. and likely for the rest of his trip.

He eyes ‘hot guy’ up and down and asks, “Sorry, have we met?”

‘Hot guy’ – Charles – grins at him, like he’s got a funny joke that he’s not sharing. “I don’t think so, Mr. Lehnsherr. I’m sure I would’ve remembered meeting someone so _dedicated to the mutant cause_.”

“Did we have sex once?” he blurts out, which in hindsight is probably not the best question to ask in front of the hot guy’s girlfriend. The girlfriend who is now staring at Erik in amused disbelief, while Charles just chuckles and shakes his head.

“I’m sure I haven’t had the _pleasure_ ,” he purrs, in a way that makes the skin prickle at the back of Erik’s neck. “And if we had, I’m _quite_ certain you would have remembered.”

“Really Charles,” Moira chastises, though the tone is affectionate and warm, like she’s used to the man and his ridiculous innuendos. It leads to more sickeningly sweet eye-fucking between the gorgeous looking couple, and this, along with the blatant PDA is nauseating enough to spur Erik to take his leave.

“I should really be going now, I’ve got a plane to catch,” he shares, wary of hot guy’s eyes tracking him as he starts edging away. “It was nice to see you again, Moira.”

“Yes, likewise. Bye Erik.”

“Goodbye.”

\---

It’s about twenty minutes into the flight when he finally remembers.

“Xavier!” he yells through the gap in the seats, almost startling Charles into dropping his drink. “You’re Raven’s brother, Charles!”

Turns out ‘hot guy’ is on the same flight, and is seated in the row in front of Erik next to a little old lady wearing a bright orange scarf. Charles has spent the last ten minutes charming her with small talk about her grandkids (she has two – a boy and girl), her baking skills (she makes a wicked pumpkin pie) and her knitting (she made the scarf she’s wearing and she just offered to make _him_  one and send it to his office) before everything clicked in Erik’s mind and memories of their road trip to New York suddenly resurfaced.

‘Scarf lady’ clucks at Erik disapprovingly between the gap as Charles turns to give him a wan smile. “Hello again, Erik.”

“Do you remember? U of C? Five years ago? Driving from Chicago to New York?”

“Of course I remember,” Charles answers, looking smug as his eyes twinkle with mirth. “I happen to have an eidetic memory.”

“You two know each other?” ‘Scarf lady’ interrupts, her expression softening immediately as she looks back and forth between the two men. “Would you like to sit with your friend, Charles?”

“No, that’s--”

“Yes!”

He’s up and out of his seat before ‘scarf lady’ can change her mind, though she seems pleased enough to be helping her new best friend Charles reunite with someone from his past. Charles doesn’t quite sigh when Erik drops into the seat next to him, but he does knock the rest of his whiskey back before turning to face him.

“You knew who I was, when we were talking back there with Moira.”

“Of course I did. I just wanted to see how long it would take _you_ to remember. If you remembered at all.”

“Hmm,” Erik hums and takes a sip of his own drink. Now that he’s sitting here next to Charles he doesn’t quite know what to say. “So you were a teacher--”

“Professor.”

“—of Genetics right? Weren’t you just getting another PhD or something?”

Charles relaxes, seeming a bit more impressed that Erik remembered this particular detail, which is really making him want to pat himself on the back.

“Yes I was working on a second PhD on biophysics at the time. I’ve since gotten a third one in psychology and I’m just finishing a fourth in anthropology.”

Erik whistles. “Impressive. That’s a big brain you’ve got in that head of yours Xavier.”

“So you said, on the way to New York,” Charles comments with a grin.

“And you’re with Moira.”

Charles eyes him suspiciously. “Yes…?”

“You’ve been together what? Three weeks?”

“A month,” Charles answers. “How did you know?”

Erik grins broadly, so pleased to have an audience that he completely misses Charles staring inexplicably at his teeth. “You take a person to the airport it’s clearly the _beginning_ of a relationship. That’s why I’ve never taken anyone to the airport at the beginning of a relationship.”

Charles worries his bottom lip absently and hesitates for a moment before he asks, “Okay, I’ll bite. Why not?”

“Because eventually relationships change and you _stop_ taking the other person to the airport and I never wanted anyone to say to me, ‘how come you don’t take me to the airport anymore?’ You know what I mean?”

The laugh that comes out of Charles is friendly and boisterous – and _that_ is something he clearly remembers – as well as the warm feeling that it gave him on the drive to New York, every time Charles threw his head back and howled at one of Erik’s jokes.

“You’re unbelievable,” Charles says, rolling his eyes, expression utterly amused and maybe even a touch fond as he looks over at Erik. “You haven’t changed at all!”

“That’s not true. I’m a completely different person now. Though still ruggedly handsome. Also, I’m _still_ a lawyer and I’m _still_ helping mutants. And _still_ hilarious and ridiculously charming.”

Charles rolls his eyes _again_ and Erik is starting to think that the man might have some type of bizarre ocular affliction. “Don’t forget ‘humble’ and ‘a gift to all the men and women lucky enough to date you’.”

He shrugs. “Maybe before, but now I’m a one-woman kind of guy. I’m getting married.”

Erik may not know Charles very well, having only met him twice in his life but he thinks the man might be in shock.

Charles is gaping at him.

Yes, definitely in shock.

“You? _You’re_ getting married.”

“Yes.”

“ _You_ are?”

“Yes! Why is that so hard to believe?” he snarls, feeling more than a little offended.

Charles throws his hands up at Erik’s reaction, looking suitably remorseful for his words. “It’s not! It’s just…I never really pegged you for the marrying type.”

He relaxes against the seat and sighs. “It’s amazing what falling madly in love can do for you.”

“Falling in…my goodness Erik, who _is_ she?” Charles asks incredulously, and now he feels bad for feeling offended, since he’s pretty sure the man is kicking himself for turning Erik down five years ago and missing out on the best fuck of his life.

“Emma Frost. She’s a telepath like you, and one of the other partners in our law firm. You should see her in action, Charles…I’ve seen her eviscerate opposing council in Court and it is absolutely breathtaking to watch. She even made a grown man cry once,” he admits with a chuckle.

“That’s wonderful,” Charles says with a surprisingly genuine smile as he pats Erik’s arm. “She sounds absolutely perfect.”

\---

They land in D.C. soon after, the hour plus flight from New York seeming to go by in a flash as the two continue to catch up (mostly about Raven). Erik follows Charles off the plane and into the terminal, and decides on a whim to invite the man to join him for dinner, loathe to have their reunion come to an early end.

“Are you staying over?” he asks, as the two stroll side by side along the moving walkway. “Do you want to have dinner with me?”

Charles gives him a suspicious look, which is patently unfair as he’s only just finished telling the man that he’s soon to be married.

He has no clue where the man gets the idea that Erik just wants to have sex with him.

“What? Just friends.”

Charles shakes his head and laughs. “I thought you didn’t believe that two bisexual men could be friends, if they found each other attractive.”

“When did I say that?” Erik doesn’t remember saying that.

“On the ride to New York!” Clearly, Charles thinks he did.

“Okay…,” he allows, “that’s right. I remember. They can’t be friends…unless both of them are involved with other people. This is an amendment to the earlier rule; if two people are in relationships the pressure of possible involvement is lifted!”

“Erik.” Charles laughs. “Erik, I don’t--”

“See that doesn’t work either,” Erik interrupts, mind racing through the myriad ways it could blow up in their faces, what with Charles ‘hot guy’ Xavier, a telepathic fiancée with a jealous streak and Erik’s tendency to get horny _and_ snuggly after too much wine. “Because the person you’re involved with doesn’t understand why you need to be friends with the person you’re just friends with, like is there something missing in the relationship that you have to go outside to get it? And if you say, ‘no, no, nothing’s missing from the relationship’ than the person you’re involved with accuses you of secretly being attracted to the person you’re just friends with, which let’s be honest you probably are, which takes us back to the original rule before the amendment which is – two bisexual men can’t be friends.”

“Erik.”

“Yes, Charles.”

“We can’t have dinner together, I’m sorry,” Charles explains, as they come to the end of the moving sidewalk, pulling Erik over to one side of the busy throughway. “There’s a welcome dinner tonight at the Genetics Symposium I’m attending, and then I have to turn in and get ready for an early morning…I’m the keynote speaker.”

Erik nods, and gives Charles a wide grin, ignoring the disappointment that he’s _definitely not feeling_. “So I guess this is it then.”

Charles smiles, and reaches to shake Erik’s hand. “It was nice to see you again, Erik. Good luck with the wedding.”

“Thanks,” he says. “You too. I mean with Moira. She’s great.”

Charles smile grows wider, his eyes practically sparkling at the mention of his girlfriend’s name. “She is. Thanks.”

And then he’s watching Charles Xavier walk out of the terminal towards the taxi stand, leaving Erik wondering when – or if – he’s ever going to see him again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who haven't seen the movie, the next chapter is another 5 year time skip, where Erik and Charles finally and properly become friends. :D


	3. Misery Loves Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not going so well for Charles and Erik. And the two reunite in the most unlikely of places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Roz and Lach for helping me with this chapter! And sorry I got completely carried away with Charles & Tony and Erik & Azazel interaction, so you'll have to wait 'til the next chapter for their proper reunion and transition to being friends :D

_Charles – Five More Years Later_

Charles always knows exactly where Tony is (and what he’s doing) at any given moment, whether there’s just one, or a thousand other people in the same room. Partly, this is due to excessive familiarity; Tony’s been his best friend since they were kids, and is the first person outside of his father and Raven to accept both Charles _and_ his telepathy unconditionally.

There is also the fact that Tony’s mind is a rather unique and wondrously chaotic place, a whirlwind of _thoughts_ and _feelings_ and _calculations_ and _snark_ swirling so fast that it takes no less than a telepath (and another genius) to keep up.

And then there’s the tendency for Tony to think of wildly inappropriate (and always sexual) imagery when he wants to catch Charles’ attention from afar, almost guaranteed to be a close up of Charles’ very red lips or too white ass, getting fucked by Tony to extremely exaggerated (and not at all true) moans and cries of ‘Oh Tony! More Tony! Please you’re so big Tony!’

Needless to say, Charles _still_ regrets teaching the man how to communicate with him telepathically.

Surprisingly tonight, Tony doesn’t prank him with a mental blowjob in the middle of his speech in front of their five hundred guests, nor does he hurl lewd memories of their brief fling(s) at Charles to get his attention.

He comes to see Charles the old fashioned way – which is to say, he tracks him down via the highly advanced GPS locator on his Stark developed, state of the art cell phone.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Tony says, dropping onto the stool next to Charles in the near empty hotel bar. It’s far enough away from the Grand Ballroom to bypass wandering VIPs attending the Stark/Xavier Science Foundation Benefit, and late enough in the evening’s festivities that Charles won’t be missed.

Probably.

“What are you doing here?” Charles asks, voice only slightly slurred, polishing off his third? fourth? whiskey with a gulp, and waving the bartender for another. “Where’s your date? The supermodel…Jenny was it?”

“Gina,” Tony answers, waving absently as the bartender hands them each a new glass. “I introduced her to some Broadway director she wanted to meet. Wants to get cast in his next production. Whatever, I’m here for _you_ , Charles-y my boy! Why didn’t you tell me you and Moira split? I could have set you up with a supermodel of your own.”

Charles groans; as big a heart as Tony has he’s also the _least_ sensitive person Charles knows, and is definitely the _last_ person he wants to talk to about his pain over losing the woman he thought he would eventually marry. “We just broke up a week ago, Tony. I was with Moira for _five years_. At least give a guy some time to properly wallow in misery and drink himself into a stupor.”

Tony scowls, and then pats him on the back. “Do you want me to call the Mayor? Get him to pull some strings and get her fired?”

“No, I don’t want you to get her fired!” Charles yells, only half in disbelief because this is exactly the kind of thing Tony considers as being ‘helpful’. “What the hell’s the matter with you? I love her!”

“Alright, alright,” Tony mutters, raising his hands in mock surrender, “just trying to make you feel better. Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Well at least dump the information in my head so I know what the hell happened with you two. I mean, you guys were cool together. You know, for a nerd scientist and a hot detective.”

“Shut up, Stark,” he says with a sigh. “You’re a nerd scientist too.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Just hit me.”

Charles grins, and then punches Tony’s arm as hard as he can, laughing at the betrayed look on the man’s face. Then he proceeds to telepathically send the details of their break-up as requested; actually a rather calm and adult discussion about the fact that the two had grown apart for quite some time and were probably better off as friends.

“Ouch.” Tony cringes. “’Let’s be friends’. That’s not good. That’s never good.”

“Yeah,” Charles agrees, tossing his drink back with a grimace. “Right.”

They sit, side by side in silence for a while, ignoring the curious glances from the bartender and the occasional ringing of their cell phones. It reminds Charles of their university days, when the two would hang out at the bar together almost every night, acting as each other’s wing man.

“I know a guy that would be perfect for you,” Tony pipes up suddenly, spinning sideways on his stool to face Charles. “Good looking, muscles, ex-Army, lots of medals. Too sensitive and New Age-y for my taste but you’ll love him.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Charles--”

“No.”

“—he’s super-hot,—”

“No.”

“—he’s an _artist,_ —”

“Tony, no.”

“—and he’s fucking great in the sack.”

Charles stops and stares at Tony. “Oh my god, are you trying to set me up with one of your ex-boyfriends?”

“Not an ex-boyfriend, Charles. Ex-acquaintance. Ex-one night stand. Okay ex-five or six nights stand but that’s it. Not boyfriend status. Did I mention he’s really built?”

“No,” Charles insists, and then, “who is it?”

Tony’s face lights up with a massive grin. “Steve Rogers.”

He groans, and buries his head in his arms. “Steve got married a year ago, Tony! You were invited to the bloody wedding!”

Tony merely shrugs as though it was a minor detail that he’d forgotten, and then offers, not five seconds later, “Well then, do you want me to suck your dick?”

Charles absolutely does not throw his Stark developed, state of the art cell phone at Tony’s head.

\---

_Erik – That Same Night_

“When did it happen?”

They’re sitting at a corner booth at their favorite hangout, and Azazel is handing Erik his fourth beer of the night, having consumed the first three waiting for his best friend to arrive at the bar.

“Wednesday,” Erik answers, grabbing the bottle out of Azazel’s hand with a sigh. “She brought me dinner at the office and then waited for me so we could go home together, which, you know, we usually just make our own way home since our schedules are so messed up, so I should have known right there that something was up, right?”

“Sure,” Azazel says, nodding his head and taking a sip of his own beer. “Emma, being considerate. Not her usual thing.”

Any other time he might have defended her, told Azazel again that she had a soft gooey center that she hid from the rest of the world; a world that either refused to take her seriously (for being beautiful, busty and blond) or was afraid of her (for being ruthless, telepathic and filthy rich).

Any other time he would have, if she hadn’t just ripped out Erik’s heart and stabbed it multiple times with her expensive, Louis Vuitton stiletto heels.

“So we get home and she barely even waits ‘til we’re all the way through the door; she’s grabbing me and dragging me into the bedroom and then she’s pulling my pants down--”

“Niiiiiiiiice.”

“—and sucking me off. I came so hard I thought my eyes were going to fall out of my head.”

“I don’t get it,” Azazel interrupts, “she brings you food and sucks your dick. How does that turn into ‘Erik, I want a divorce’?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Erik snarls, downing half his bottle in one long gulp. “All I know is one minute, I’m floating in a post orgasm high and the next minute she’s telling me, all casual like, ‘Erik, I don’t know if I want to be married anymore.’ Like it’s the institution she’s got an issue with, nothing personal.”

“Well what did you say?”

“So I’m calm, and I tell her we should take our time, think things through, don’t rush into anything--”

“That’s good, can’t let her smell your fear she’d eat you alive.”

Erik glares at him but the bastard is used to his ‘resting bitch face’ and is completely unfazed. “Anyway…we go to bed, and in the morning at breakfast she says she’s thought about it, and she wants a trial separation. She just wants to try it, but we can still date, like that’s supposed to soften the blow.”

“But why would you want to date your own wife?”

“Exactly! I got married so I could _stop_ dating, so I don’t see how ‘we can still date’ is some great deal, since your wife is supposed to love you and then it occurs to me – maybe she doesn’t love me anymore? So I ask her, ‘Emma, don’t you love me anymore?’ and do you know what she says? ‘I don’t think I’ve _ever_ loved you.’”

Azazel nearly chokes on his mouthful of beer. “Man that is _harsh_.”

Erik arches an eyebrow at him and scowls. “Thanks.”

“No, really. I know she’s your wife but Emma's the 'Ice Queen' for a reason, Erik. I mean I knew she could be cold but _damn_! There’s no coming back from a line like that.”

“Outstanding Az,” he snipes, before continuing on with the story. “So I get pissed and I head off to work and I don’t see her until after lunch when she barges into my office. She tells me that she has a friend who’s moving to Singapore for a year so she can sublet her apartment…and that the movers came and took her stuff out of our place after I left for work.”

“Erik,” Azazel intones, “what the fuck?”

“That’s what I said! I asked her ‘what the fuck Emma, when did you call the fucking movers’ and she said ‘a week ago’. And _I_ said ‘you’ve known you were leaving me for a week and you didn’t say anything?’ I mean, what was all that with the dinner and the blow job and she says, ‘I wanted to end our marriage on good terms’.”

Azazel throws his arms up in the air and growls. “See! This is why you don’t get married! You give your heart to somebody, they take it and stomp all over it and leave you bleeding like a chewed up _каркас_ on the side of the road--”

Erik snorts. “I have no idea but that means, but it sounds about accurate.”

“Hey,” Azazel says, throwing his arm around Erik’s shoulder. “Listen, I’m really sorry. Is there anything you need? What can I do?”

“You can help me plan the perfect murder.”

“Now Erik, murdering your wife is not a reasonable reaction to a request for divorce, no matter how much of a _сука_ she is for--”

“Not _her_ ,” he interrupts impatiently, “I mean Shaw.”

“Your mentor? The senior partner in your firm? Why would you…wait don’t tell me he’s--”

“I want to kill him,” he explains, “because everything she said was a lie. She wants a divorce because that _shtik drek_ is fucking my wife.”

Azazel’s eyes go wide with surprise. “But he’s…and you’re his…are you sure?”

Erik wishes he was wrong about Sebastian and Emma having an affair; wishes that he hadn’t caught them coming out of the board room with his pants unzipped and her shirt untucked, realizing that the man he’d admired for years - and the person responsible for bringing him into the firm - was the same one bending his wife over the conference table.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Azazel doesn’t say anything for a long time, the two finishing their beers and then waving the waitress over for another round. Finally, he pulls out a pen and grabs one of the cocktail napkins, and looks Erik straight in the eye.

“I can’t help you plan a murder,” he says, very seriously, “but let’s see if we can get him to fire you without cause, so we can sue that bastard for wrongful dismissal and take him for everything he’s got.”   

\----

About a week after their impromptu strategy session, and still no real success in ‘Operation Peace Was Never An Option’, Erik comes to a realization.

The only way to feel better about getting fucked was _actually_ getting fucked.

It wouldn’t be too hard to go to a bar and pick up a one night stand – Erik never had that problem before marrying Emma and he’s pretty sure it’s not a problem now since he’s still hotter than like 95% of the men in New York – but the last thing he wants is to have to spend the night pretending.

Pretending to give a shit about anyone else. Pretending not to be miserable prick. Pretending that he doesn’t want to call his Mama and let her wrap him up in a blanket on the couch and feed him nothing but his favorites for two solid days - brisket and rugelach.

But since he hasn’t told his parents that he and Emma split (he’ll get to it, it _just happened_ ) he’s going to have to settle for the next best thing.

A good long wank, with a brand spanking new dildo.

A _giant_ , brand spanking new dildo, since he threw everything he and Em had ever used together out of the damn condo, the day she moved in with fucking Shaw.

(That’s right – the ‘sublet’ wasn’t a ‘sublet’ but another fucking lie.)

So now he’s browsing up and down the aisles of the adult sex shop, grabbing lube and condoms (in case he accidentally picks somebody up on the way home, it happens) and looking through the extensive dildo collection. He settles on the one that’s deep purple, with a vibrating option and a gentle curve, a good size that’s not quite as long as his own dick but definitely thicker.  

“Erik? Is that you?”

He spins around at the sound of the definitely familiar voice, and comes face to face with _Charles Xavier_ of all people, carrying a little basket filled with his own assortment of goodies.

A basket that happens to also include a nice giant dildo (in blue, and about the same size and shape as Erik’s cock he notes).

“Hello Charles,” he greets warmly, “what are you doing here?”

Charles arches an eyebrow at him and grins, his eyes darting from Erik’s face to the supplies he’s holding in his arms. “Shopping. Same as you.”

“Right,” he says, and he’s inexplicably happy to run into Xavier again after all these years, until he remembers the last time they bumped into each other and asks, “So how’s Moira doing?”

The grin rather abruptly leaves Charles’ face, the fine lines around his eyes more visible as he grimaces. “She’s fine. I hear she’s fine.” His smile returns quickly but it’s a lot more muted this time. “We just broke up.”

Erik feels a bit like a jerk for asking now, and is completely sincere when he says, “Shit, I’m sorry.”

But Charles just brushes it off, forcing his smile just a little bit wider at Erik’s words. “Yeah, well you know. It happens.”

“Yeah.”

“What about you, Erik? You look great, how’s married life treating you?”

“Not so good,” he admits, and this is the first time he’s actually been able to say the words out loud, “I’m getting a divorce.”

“Oh.”

Charles’ entire expression changes, and the sudden burst of warmth and empathy from the telepath makes the knots in Erik’s shoulders loosen, just a little. “I’m really sorry,” Charles says, “I’m really sorry to hear that Erik.”

“Yeah, it sucks,” he answers. “So what happened with you guys?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Russian Translations:**  
>  Каркас - carcass  
> Сука - bitch
> 
>  **Yiddish Translation:**  
>  shtik drek – piece of shit
> 
> No lie I pulled these straight off Google so if they're inaccurate, please let me know!!!


	4. Bisexual Men Who Find Each Other Attractive CAN Be Friends – Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik become friends.

_Charles and Erik Have a Conversation_

They leave the shop together (with their respective new purchases in discreet shopping bags) and head to the nearest pub for a pint. It’s been about five years since Charles saw Erik last on the flight to D.C., and surprisingly, the man looks almost exactly the same – perhaps even better than he remembers. He spends much of their conversation discreetly admiring toned muscles not quite hidden under a light pink button up, and trying not to eye the front of the man’s trousers, which is leaving very little to the imagination.

On the account that Erik Lehnsherr really does have a massively giant cock.

Thankfully, their conversation about failed relationships manages to keep Charles’ libido in check, and they fall back into witty banter and an easy rapport. And as obnoxious and argumentative as Erik has been in the past, he’s equally as understanding and attentive now, proving himself to be an excellent listener as Charles confides his true feelings over his break up with Moira; that it cut deep to be told that she didn’t see a future with Charles, when he was just coming to the realization that a family (with her) was what he wanted.

And Charles is more than happy to return the favor when Erik shares the unfortunate details of his divorce from Emma, letting the other man vent his frustration over her callous disregard for their five year marriage, and the unexpected betrayal by someone who had been both mentor and friend.

Hours later, they find themselves walking from the pub towards Central Park, following one of the paths without an intended destination. The late afternoon sun casts a soft, golden glow over the fall foliage, and Charles finds himself thinking about the irony of enjoying a romantic stroll at sunset with _Erik Lehnsherr_ of all people.

“At least I got the apartment,” Charles says instead, his wry comment prompting a chuckle from Erik. “So I can wallow in abject misery in my own familiar space.”

Erik snorts and tugs absently at his scarf. “That’s what everyone says to me too. ‘At least you got the apartment,’ like I should be so relieved. I’m sure it’ll make the soul crushing pain much easier to bear because I still have a door man that pretends to give a shit about my day and a decent view of Central Park.”

“You’d be surprised what people would do for a nice view.”

“Actually I wouldn’t,” Erik objects, glancing at Charles from the corner of his eye with a grin. “I meet plenty of assholes through my line of work. And I do so enjoy downgrading their accommodations to something more fitting.”

“Like a jail cell?” Charles suggests with a wink, getting an even bigger smile in response.

“Exactly like.”

It’s…nice, Charles thinks, as they wander together at a leisurely pace. He can’t remember the last time he’s gone out for a simple walk in the park, and the fresh air and good company is doing much to ease the perpetual sting of being ‘not quite enough’.

Not ‘normal enough’ for his mother or ‘understanding enough’ for Raven; not ‘serious enough’ for most of the people he’s dated, and not ‘invested enough’ for Moira.

Luckily (or not), Erik manages to drag him from his depressing train of thought with a timely insult, couched as a compliment.

“You know I really didn’t like you that much the first time we met,” Erik muses, as though it was a perfectly normal thing to say to someone you’d just spent the last four hours with, sharing the most intimate parts of your lives. “You were so uptight then, you’re much more open now. Easier going.”

“Wait, I didn’t like _you_ \--”

“Yes you did.”

“—and just because I wouldn’t sleep with you, you decided to write that off as a character flaw instead of dealing with the possibility that it might have something to do with you!”

“Fine, fine!” Erik answers, waving his arms in surrender, “you win. It was all me. Definitely. Even though you had outrageously naive views about mutant rights and terrible taste in music. Totally me.”

There’s a retort on the tip of his tongue, a jibe about Erik’s dramatics and his stubbornness and one track mind. Instead, what comes out of Charles’ mouth is “Do you want to have dinner with me sometime?”

Erik looks surprised, and then genuinely pleased at the offer, coming to a stop in the middle of the path and giving Charles a mischievous grin. “Are we becoming friends now?”

“Um...yes?” Charles answers, even though he absolutely does NOT need another Drama Queen in his life – one Tony Stark is more than enough thank you. “That’s good right?”

Erik shakes his head. “You know you might be the first attractive man I’ve _not_ wanted to sleep with my entire life?”

“That’s wonderful, Erik,” Charles says, choosing not to point out the fact that the man has been low key stripping him in his mind for the last twenty minutes or so. At least. “Very good indeed.”

\-----

_It’s Not Dating When There’s No Sex_

“It’s not dating, Raven,” Charles has to explain, more than once to his disbelieving sister. “We’re not having sex, we’re just hanging out! Just two friends doing perfectly normal things together.”

Which is not really an accurate statement, when you’re friends with someone like Erik Lehnsherr.

In truth, it’s been rather nice to have someone to spend time with, when he’s not in the mood for a date (or more accurately, a one-night stand). Raven has been exceptionally busy for the past few months producing her new television show, spending much of her time flying back and forth between L.A. and New York with little time to spare for her big brother. And though he and Hank continue to be good friends in and out of the lab, the current, off-again status of the man’s relationship with his sister makes their encounters outside of work somewhat strained and uncomfortable. So if he finds himself in Erik’s company on most free nights, it’s to be expected he thinks - and perfectly natural for two newly single friends to enjoy spending time together, helping the other forget their romantic troubles.

Perfectly natural and not at all strange, no matter what Tony and his sister has to say about it.

Not that the friendship has come completely without its issues, now that Charles has welcomed Erik into his life; the first and foremost being their rather differing ideas over what constitutes as ‘acceptable activities that are not dates’.

They go through a long list of prospective activities including cooking classes (‘I have a Jewish mother, I already know how to cook’), bowling (‘I’m not putting my feet into those germy cesspools they call shoes, Charles’), yoga (‘I bend metal, not my body’), rock climbing (‘I don’t understand why I need to climb you know I can float right?’), going to a football game (why would I pay to watch a bunch of rich people get richer throwing a stupid ball around?’) and half a dozen other options before they narrow it down to just two.

Going to the movies.

Or going out to a club.

Which is where Charles finds himself late on a Saturday night, sitting next to Erik on a red velvet lounger in the hottest gay club in Manhattan.

“That one,” Erik states rather emphatically, almost spilling his martini on Charles as he points out a tall brunet leaning against the bar. “Best looking guy here. Well, except for me. And you.”

Charles almost inhales his drink up his nose, snorting at Erik’s not inaccurate assessment of the hotness of both himself (i.e. Erik) and the dark haired man wearing the tightest leather pants he’s ever seen. They’ve been people watching for most of the night from their spot on the lounger, content to check out the writhing bodies on the dance floor and getting drunk on booze (Erik) and the surrounding minds pulsing with arousal (Charles).

“Yes, he’s quite attractive,” Charles concedes, nudging Erik’s arm with his elbow. “And he’s a mutant with a rather fascinating ability…apparently he can create and manipulate powerful whirlwinds.”

“Alright, that’s a bonus,” Erik says, moving even closer to Charles until they two are leaning against each other on top of the cushions. “But is he here with somebody? Or does he want to hook up?”

Charles looks briefly into the man’s mind, careful not to take more than a cursory glance at his surface thoughts. “He’s here with friends, but he’s definitely looking for a ‘date’.”

“So how do you want to do this?”

Charles doesn’t understand. “Do what?”

“Decide who gets him tonight,” Erik states with a roll of his eyes. “You or me.”

“Oh my god, Erik, he’s a person not the last box of cereal on the shelf!” Charles groans. “And how do you know he wants to sleep with either one of us? There are hundreds of people here!”

“Please, you’re being ridiculous,” Erik insists, loudly broadcasting his impatience with Charles who he thinks lives in a state of perpetual obliviousness. “Who else is he going to want to fuck, we’re the hottest ones here!”

“What do you--”

“Just trust me,” Erik interrupts, tipping his head towards the man who just happens to be surreptitiously checking them out. “Look and see.”

He does – mostly because he knows that Erik won’t let it go until he gets his answer. But what Charles sees in the man’s head (his name is Janos, he’s Spanish and a flight attendant on holiday) is all together unexpected, and maybe just a little bit thrilling in his current state of mild inebriation.

“Erik,” he blurts out, “you’re right, he _does_ think we’re the hottest guys in the club.”

Erik just rolls his eyes at him again and nods approvingly. “I told you! Now, which one of us does he want to fuck more?”

“He wants both of us!” Charles explains, downing the rest of his own martini with a gulp.

He can’t help but laugh at the wide and wicked grin that slowly crosses Erik’s face. “Threesome!” the man says with a smirk, as he plasters himself against Charles’ side, whispering in his ear, “so…what do you say?”

“I don’t know!” Charles can’t stop laughing at the absurdity of debating ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to a threesome that hasn’t even been offered yet. “Don’t you think it would be weird? With us being just friends?”

“Not weird, Charles. It would be hot. So hot. _Super_ hot,” Erik insists.

Charles thinks about for another millisecond before he decides that sex is a very good idea indeed. “Yes. Alright. I guess if we just have sex with him and not each other then it wouldn’t be weird right? Yes, that’s a splendid idea, Erik. You’re bloody brilliant.”

He expects to get a high five from Erik, or some other similarly obnoxious gesture to his proposal; instead, Erik’s face morphs from gleeful to puzzled and then strangely subdued, leaving Charles to wonder why the man’s excitement seems to have suddenly and inexplicably disappeared.

“Erik? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Erik mutters, pushing himself up and off the lounger and scrubbing his hand through his hair. “I just remembered that I promised to volunteer tomorrow morning at the Mutant Community Center. Early. So I’m just going to go. But you have fun, alright?”

“Wait, Erik, I’ll go with you,” Charles insists. “It’s not a big deal, I don’t mind.”

“No!” Erik shouts, and practically shoves Charles back against the cushions. “Stay. I insist. Go get some. I’ll call you later okay?”

“O…kay?” Charles replies, but Erik is already moving, making his way through the crowd like his feet are on fire. He calls out for Erik to wait but finds himself studiously blocked by the man’s shields, a technique no doubt taught to him by his telepath ex-wife.

And then Charles’ attention is utterly absorbed by the handsome face that comes into view, Janos’ rather alluring smile enough to make Charles forget about leaving. In fact he forgets all about Erik’s strange behavior until much later that night, with Janos in his bed and in his arms, wondering how different the night might have gone if Erik hadn’t up and vanished without a trace.


	5. Bisexual Men Who Find Each Other Attractive CAN Be Friends – Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik as friends, continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully back to a more regular posting schedule now that SM is over! I know some of you were really hoping for a 'deli scene' but it wasn't really gelling with the chapter flow sorry. Not sure frankly if it'll make an appearance at all, since I think a large part of how well the scene works in the movie is being able to see it on screen. :D But we'll see - perhaps I can make it work elsewhere!
> 
> Also, Erik is not really living a strictly kosher life style at this point in the story, hence the reference to Brazilian bbq which is most probably NOT a kosher restaurant. :D

_Erik Explains ‘The Thing With Charles’_

“I don’t understand this ‘thing’ you’ve got going on with Charles.”

Azazel is eyeing him between bites of his Reuben sandwich, his feet propped up on Erik’s new desk in Erik’s new office. Well technically, none of it is _his_ yet – the furniture, the office, or the paralegals – though that’s about to change, now that he’s left Shaw  & Associates (with a hefty sum for ‘helping to grow the business’ and his personal client list, at Emma’s insistence) and joined Azazel and Darwin’s practice.

He ignores Az’s exasperated look and takes a sip of his bottled water. “What do you mean?”

“You enjoy being with him?”

“Yes.”

“You find him attractive.”

He takes a bite of his pastrami on rye, and licks his lips. “Yeah.”

“But you’re not sleeping together.”

“No.”

Azazel shoots him a triumphant look, which earns the man an unimpressed glare. “Ha! You’re afraid to let yourself be happy.”

Erik shakes his head. “Why can’t you give me credit for this? This is a big step for me, having a relationship with someone hot that doesn’t involve sex! I feel like I’m growing.”

His best friend and now partner scowls and mutters under his breath, “ _I’m_ hot.”

“You're my best friend so shut up, you don’t count.”

Their conversation is interrupted then by a sharp knock on the door, and Kitty peeks her head inside, giving Az a quick nod before directing her gaze at Erik. “It’s done. I signed him up for a couple of hard-core BDSM ones, a couple of gay and lesbian ones and a catalog for toys and gear.”

“Thank you, Kitty.”

“Sure,” she answers, shooting him a wry grin. “But you know that signing your old boss up to get dirty magazines sent to his office isn’t technically in my job description right?”

He smiles at her, the one his mother assures him is very charming – the same one Azazel tells him frightens children and little old ladies not his mother – and answers, “I know. I appreciate your help. Take the rest of the afternoon off.”

“Awesome! Okay I’m going now, see you tomorrow!”

When he turns his attention back to Azazel, he finds the man staring at him and trying to stifle a laugh at his brilliant if admittedly petty revenge plan. “Anyway…what were we talking about?”

Az snorts. “You were growing.”

“Right,” he replies and studiously ignores Azazel’s eye roll. “Charles and I, we’re just friends, Az. Not everything is about sex you know.”

“I agree,” the bastard says with a smirk. “With you, it’s also about the post-sex cuddling.”

\-----

_Casablanca, Revisited_

Erik is half dozing in bed, half flipping idly through the channels when his phone buzzes with a text from Charles.

_Are you alone?_

_Yes, what’s up?_

_Channel 23._

He drags himself a little higher onto the pillows as he fumbles with the remote, and manages to answer the ringing cell _and_ change the channel over just in time to catch the tail end of ‘Casablanca’.

“So you’re telling me that you’d be happier with Victor Lazlo than with Humphrey Bogart?” Erik teases without preamble.

There’s an amused huff on the other end of the line. “When did I say _that_?”

“When we drove to New York.”

“I never said that. I would never say that.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” he agrees, and then, just because he’s a contrary bastard he adds, “since _I’m_ not the one with the eidetic memory, Ican’t be 100% certain that you said you’d ditch the love of your life and run off without a second thought. Right.”

Charles laughs, and the low rumble over the phone is inexplicably soothing as he pulls the covers up and under his chin. “Yes, you’re right. I’m a very practical man, Erik. Not a romantic bone in this body.”

“Maybe,” he replies, “or maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet.”

There’s silence for a few moments on the other end of the line, and then Charles says, “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.”

The statement hangs in the air, and Erik pretends not to hear the almost wistful longing in Charles’ voice, something about it making his stomach feel inexplicably…funny. He wonders what Charles is thinking, as he lays in his own bed in his own apartment; wonders what Charles will say if Erik just lets the pregnant pause linger on just a little more…

Instead he says, “Course I’m right, I’m always right. Thought you’d know that about me by now.”

Charles laughs again, and the sound is both relief and disappointment to Erik’s ears. “Yes, I suppose I do at that.”

They bicker good naturedly through what little remains of the film, this time around the relative hotness of Humphrey Bogart versus Paul Henreid (Charles likes Bogart while Erik roots for the other guy, though both agree that Ingrid Bergman could do better than both), and then Charles is saying good night, and something about breakfast in the morning with Raven when Erik interrupts with an idea he’s been mulling over since Darwin brought it up at lunch.

“Wait, listen… Darwin at work, he knows a Brazilian barbeque place on West 53rd that’s supposed to be amazing. Do you want to go there for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Oh…um,” Charles stammers, which is a very un-Charles like reaction to his usual suggestion of food related adventures. “I can’t actually…I have a date.”

“That’s great!” he blurts out, because why shouldn’t Charles go on a date? The man is super hot and super single and Moira’s been out of the picture for months. Of course he’s going on a date. Yes.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a hot date?”

“I don’t know. Maybe…I don’t know! It’s just we’ve been spending so much time together lately and I didn’t want you to feel pressured to start dating again.”

Erik shakes his head; he has no idea what the hell Charles is babbling on about. “Why would I feel pressured to start dating?”

Charles sighs and he can practically _feel_ the man rolling his eyes at him from half way across the city. “No reason. Anyway, maybe you should think about it. Going on a date I mean. Who knows you could meet somebody and really hit it off.”

He scoffs, because Charles is ridiculous and says ridiculous things. “I’m not ready. I still sleep on the same side of the bed and jerk off to sex tapes of my soon to be ex-wife, Charles. Not going to happen.”

“Erik,” Charles insists, “you _are_ ready. And it’s just a meal, not picking out china patterns. Also – ew.”

“Whatever,” he answers, waving off Charles’ _‘that’s too much information, Lehnsherr’_ voice. “Fine, I’ll go on a date but I reserve to right to bitch about it afterwards for as long as I want.”

“Darling, I wouldn’t expect it any other way,” Charles says, and then promptly hangs up on him.

\-----

_Worst Date Ever_

 “It was the worst date _ever_.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Erik fumes, as Charles takes a giant bite of his pastrami on rye, making obscene sex noises as he licks the meat juices off his red, red lips. Jerk. “You do not force me to go out on a date and then try to steal the ‘worst date ever’ crown from me. Plus whatever happened to you couldn’t _possibly_ have been worse than my craptastic night.”

Charles takes a sip of his soda and grins. “First of all, I did not _force_ you to do anything. Second of all - his name was _Thor_.”

“What, like the Norse God of Thunder, Thor? _That_ Thor?”

Erik ignores the side eye they’re getting from the old man in the cardigan sitting at the next table, who is likely offended by a combination of Charles’ indecent lip smacking and Erik’s incredulous (and thus rather loud) response. That, or he’s mad that he and Charles are wearing almost the exact same hideous sweater in the same dull grey, and Charles is filling it out about a thousand times better in the chest and arms.

Not that he’s looking. Much.

And whatever – it’s not like the deli is so packed he can’t move himself and his latkes to another table.

“Yes _that_ Thor. Apparently his family is related to the Norwegian monarchy, and his father is a rather well respected if eccentric scholar of old Norse mythology.”

“Huh.”

“Right? So Thor is quite handsome, if a little too slick and ‘put together’ for my taste. But he was quite charming and well-read.”

“So? Sounds like it went alright. What happened?”

“What _happened_ ,” Charles says, as he leans forward with a conspiring grin, propping his elbows onto the table, “is that he spent half the meal talking about his amazing brother and how close they are and how well they get along. And how they spent a month together hiking and camping on the glaciers this past summer, and how they can’t wait to take a trip to Australia together in the New Year.”

“So he gets along with his brother. Look at you and Raven; what’s wrong with siblings being close?”

Charles is practically bouncing in his seat, so he’s definitely got something juicy he can’t wait to share. “Nothing,” he purrs, “though half way through our meal the amazing brother actually shows up and interrupts our date, and introduces _himself_ as Thor.”

Erik stares at Charles and then shakes his head. “Sorry what?”

Charles shrugs, but his shit-eating grin clearly conveys the level of amusement he’s feeling over the whole thing. “Turns out I was having dinner with Thor’s brother Loki—”

“Oh c’mon, _Loki_?”

“—who’d apparently intercepted my texts and sent his brother to a completely different restaurant to get stood up.”

“I thought they got along really well? Seems like sort of a shitty thing to do…did you find out why?”

“Oh no.” Now it’s Charles’ turn to shake his head, as he pushes the half embarrassed, half mortified feelings from the date into Erik’s head. “I left in the middle of their rather heated argument. They were so into it – and each other – that they didn’t even notice me getting up and paying the check.”

“Wait, wait, wait a minute. Into _each other_? You mean like…” Erik wrinkles his nose in disgust as Charles shrugs.

“I don’t know for sure, but there was a lot of sexual tension involved that didn’t have anything to do with _me_.”

“Ew,” he mutters under his breath. And then, “Ew.”

Charles laughs and Erik gives him the finger. Not that it deters him; he just laughs harder and says, “Would it make you feel better to know that Loki is adopted? So they’re not actually related by blood? I caught that from some of the not altogether brotherly thoughts blaring from their general direction.”

Erik thinks about it for a moment and then nods. “Better. But bummer for you.”

He would feel bad for Charles if the man didn’t look so bloody thrilled relaying the story to Erik. “It’s fine, no harm done. Tell me about yours and why _you_ deserve the ‘worse date ever’ crown.”

By now ‘cardigan guy’ at the next table has stopped glaring at them between sips of his coffee and is unabashedly listening in on their conversation. Erik catches his eye and smiles, baring his teeth at him like he does to hostile witnesses in court. ‘Cardigan guy’ remains unfazed.

“Super-hot guy. Stupid name.”

“Worse than Loki and Thor?”

“You tell me. Victor Von Doom.”

Charles laughs so hard he snorts, and Erik does not find that ridiculously charming or adorable. Not at all. “Von Doom? What is he, a super villain?”

“He has a big enough ego for one; can you believe he spent the entire night talking about himself? About the extreme importance of his work and how many people he’s helping with his research? Wouldn’t shut up about it all night.”

“So what you’re saying is that you went on a date with an extremely attractive but insufferable man, with a huge ego who thought his work was so interesting that nothing else could compare?”

“Yes?”

“You went out on a date with _Erik Lehnsherr_!” Charles crows.

Erik’s answering scowl doesn’t seem to have any effect on Charles at all, so he gamely lets Charles get all that petty laughter out of his system before continuing, “At least _I_ pretend to listen to my date. He didn’t shut up for the entire night! I don’t think he noticed when I stopped feigning interest in the conversation.”

“I’m sorry, Erik,” Charles manages, still chuckling under his breath. “I think it’s going to take a long time.  Who knows when we’ll actually be able to enjoy going out with someone new?”

“Yeah.”

“Too bad you two didn’t get along…guess we both ended up having an early night.”

“Oh no, I had sex with him,” he counters, and Charles actually stops eating, his sandwich pausing in mid-air as he stares at Erik in disbelief.

“You did? But you said he was the _worst date_ ever! That you couldn’t stand him!”

He shrugs. “What? He was super hot.”

 

 


End file.
